Dishes with a Supersoldier
by BuzzCat
Summary: When Steve returns home from a mission with an old friend, Darcy quickly becomes more than a little concerned. Written for the prompt: Shieldshock- Beards and closeness


Darcy was curled in her chair, a book open in her lap. It was tonight. Tonight was the last night. He came home tonight. She hadn't read a single word in the past hour.

Steve had been gone for a month. A whole month away, on something SHIELD sent him on for something he couldn't tell Darcy about other than "There's a very low chance of me dying." Which somehow hadn't comforted her. Darcy stared up at the clock, picking at the dirt beneath her nails. Two weeks ago, she had received a postcard from Steve, the first time he had ever sent a freaking postcard. The front had had some pretty spectacular scenery with the word "BRAZIL" splashed across the top as big as possible. Not only was the existence of the postcard itself strange, but the text confused her even more:

"Hey Darce!

"Things are taking a little long around here, sorry. I seem to have found a cold spot (finally!) and will probably be bringing this freezing weather back home with me. Have blankets ready when I get home!

"Love, Steve"

Darcy had at first contemplated bringing the card into SHIELD and asking what was up, but decided against it on the grounds that it was possible SHIELD a) didn't want Captain America sending post cards about cold weather from Brazil, or b) most of SHIELD didn't know that Captain America was in Brazil. Instead, Darcy had gone on a shopping spree and purchased several microfiber blankets, along with buying yards of fleece and making her own tie-blankets. There were at least five of them stacked in the corner, three of the store-bought ones beneath the handmade blankets, with a knitted set of gloves and a matching hat and scarf. There was a giant pot of stew on the stove that had been ready for the past hour. If Steve was bringing in freezing weather from Brazil, literal or no, there were going to be cold weather provisions.

At last, Darcy heard the key click in the lock. She jumped up and raced to the door, watching it swing open. Without thinking, she launched herself at Steve, wrapping her arms tight around him and letting his beard brush her cheek. He made a spluttered sound of warning when Darcy realized that they were not alone and that she was looking at a very sharp knife inches from her forehead. All of her joy froze as Steve slowly disentangled her from his person,

"Darcy, I should have called. Darcy, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is Darcy. My girlfriend." Darcy's eyes went wide. Bucky. She had known he was looking for him and suddenly all the cold references clicked into place. The Winter Soldier. She couldn't help the nervous gulp as she had fleeting eye contact. The knife was returned to the assassin's side and only then was Darcy able to take him in. Bucky was dressed in a giant coat, the kind Darcy thought only existed for people who lived on a farm and didn't have the wifi to know that more visually appealing things existed. His hand was twitching toward the knife at his side. Jeans followed the ridiculous coat, ending with heavy winter boots. Bucky's hair was obviously recently cut, and not very well. Darcy had a funny feeling Steve had done it. But it was Bucky's eyes that concerned her most. He seemed at once incredibly angry and incredibly confused. His gaze flicked to Steve and Darcy could see the brief flicker or recognition there. She knew that this was the Winter Freaking Soldier, and the fact that some part of him recognized Steve and didn't want to kill him was a much better scenario than she had ever expected. Darcy swallowed her complaint about almost being stabbed and opened the door further,

"Come in."

Steve stepped in first, Bucky slightly more hesitantly behind him. The assassin seemed to be trying to take everything in at once and reconcile it into his bank of known data. Darcy's gaze flicked to Steve's sketch on the wall and suddenly wished that it was a different one. The one on the wall was something Steve had dreamed and when he left, Darcy hadn't had the heart to take it down, despite it being a little weird. It was her and Bucky, sitting at a table and laughing. Darcy had once asked Steve what they were laughing at, and he got a funny little smile on his face as he said, "Me." Bucky quickly saw the sketch and he seemed transfixed by it. Darcy was quick to explain,

"That didn't actually happen." Bucky's eyes snapped to hers and she fought the urge to hunch her shoulders and pretend she hadn't said anything. Instead, she clarified, "The sketch. It never actually happened, so if you don't remember it, that's okay." Bucky gave a short nod of acknowledgement before prowling further down the hallway. Darcy shot Steve a look that very clearly said 'we'll talk about this later' before moving back to the kitchen, bringing down three bowls from the cupboard, "I hope you boys are hungry. I made stew. My grandmother's recipe." Darcy knew when Bucky had entered the kitchen, but she didn't know how. He hadn't made a sound but when she turned around with two full bowls of soup, she wasn't surprised to see him hovering at the corner of the table. She put a bowl in front of him and one to the seat diagonal from him, where Steve usually sat. Darcy dished herself a bowl and turned to put it at her spot when she saw that there was one already there. Bucky's bowl of soup was mysteriously gone. She snorted and set the new bowl in front of him, "I don't know if that's chivalry or making sure it isn't poisoned, but whatever." She made sure to take a big gulp of soup while Bucky was watching. Might as well put any poison fears to rest right off the back. Now that the coat was at least unzipped, Darcy could see that he was pitifully thin. Steve also took a big mouthful of soup and said,

"Tastes great, Darcy." Bucky took a nibble, barely enough to wet the bottom of the spoon, and lifted it to his lips. It must have met with his approval because the next bite was significantly larger. The group ate in relative silence, Darcy occasionally commenting on something she'd read on the Internet or how Espresso, their cat, had gotten into mischief. Bucky's gaze continued to dart around through the entire evening, as if waiting for a piano to be dropped on his head. At last, what was possibly the most stressful meal of Darcy's life was at a close when the entire pot of stew was gone. Then again, feeding two super soldiers, it probably shouldn't have surprised her that they ran out completely. Steve stood up, making sure that the movement was slow enough that it didn't startle their visitor,

"I'm going to go pull out the couch. Bucky, do you want to come with?" The man still at the table shook his head and Darcy did her best not to look disappointed. Doing the dishes by hand (despite the presence of a dishwasher) was always how she calmed down and that would be impossible to do with a brainwashed assassin that she may or may not have pissed off watching her. Still, she nodded to Steve to go when he looked at her and Darcy started clearing the dishes. Unfortunately, doing the dishes meant that she had her back to Bucky the entire time, something she was a little leery about but it couldn't be helped. She put everything in the sink except the knife she'd used to slice the vegetables and turned on the water, pouring some soap in with the dirty dishes and letting the sink fill. As she was washing the cutting board, she heard the voice behind her, gravelly with disuse,

"Why?" Darcy almost jumped and turned around, still rubbing at the cutting board with her dishcloth.

"Why what?" she asked. Bucky cleared his throat,

"The picture. It didn't happen. Why is it there?" Darcy was frankly surprised to be hearing full sentences. His demeanor thus far had left her to imagine that cavemen grunts would come before speech. She rinsed the cutting board and started drying it, turning back to Bucky,

"It's something he dreamed about six months back. Woke up and started sketching and didn't stop until it was done. I think he was sleep-drawing for half of it. It turned out well, though. Nicer than his other pieces. Not that his other ones aren't nice, but that one is just…different." Darcy shrugged and put the board on the drying rack, to be taken care of when the rest of the dishes were done and grabbed a soapy spoon. Bucky said behind her,

"Why us?" That question was easier, but Darcy still finished washing and drying the spoon before answering Bucky. She wanted him to be able to see her when she answered, to reinforce the fact that she wasn't lying,

"Because we're the most important people in his life. You're his best friend. That never changed, not through everything. I'm his girlfriend. We've been together for four years. It makes sense that his subconscious would throw us together as good friends."

"Does it?"

"Make sense? I don't know. I did political science, not psychology." said Darcy. She turned back to the sink and washed a bowl. When she went to grab the drying towel, she instead found a super soldier by her side, drying towel in one hand and the mechanical one held out for the wet bowl. Darcy looked at him and asked, "Won't you rust?"

Bucky shrugged, a motion that looked entirely unfamiliar on his body but she could tell he was trying it out, mimicking her movements like a baby seeing things for the first time. She put the bowl in his hand,

"Thanks." They finished the rest of the dishes that way, Darcy washing and Bucky drying. Steve watched them for the last few dishes, unable to keep a goofy smile off his face. As Bucky dried the pot, Steve cleared his throat,

"The couch is pulled out and there are blankets and pillows. Bathroom is—"

"—the room with the toilet." finished Bucky in a whisper. Then he looked at Darcy and Steve, like he knew he said something but didn't understand why. Steve smiled like it was Christmas,

"You always said that to me when I came over to your place, back then. If you need anything else, Bucky, don't hesitate to ask." Darcy smiled and followed Steve, the pair of them heading for their bedroom as Bucky stared at the multitude of blankets piled beside the bed. Darcy was almost into the bedroom when she turned and said,

"Oh, and if you get up early tomorrow and decide you want to go prowling around the neighborhood—I know it occurred to you because I hang out with enough super spies that I know early morning prowling is a thing—make sure you wear the hat and gloves and scarf. It's December and I will not have you coming back chilled to the bone. Steve put them on the hook by the door. Orange ones are yours." Darcy walked into the bedroom behind Steve, closing the door before hissing,

"Would it have killed you to give me a freaking phone call to say that the Winter Soldier was coming to stay? I thought about answering the door naked and just think what would have happened if I'd done that!"

"I sent you a post card!"

"I know, I know, but still! A very clear heads-up that a traumatized, brainwashed ex-assassin would be entering the vicinity would have been very much appreciated." Darcy let out a sigh, mostly just from the breath she'd been holding all evening. Steve wrapped her in his arms,

"Let's shower and I'll tell you about it." As they both stripped and stepped into the warm water, Steve explained.

He'd been looking for Bucky ever since the HYDRA debacle almost a year back. He couldn't tell Darcy outright because, as sure as he was that the apartment was safe, he didn't want to tip off anyone who might have bugged the place. Natasha was sorting through all of the documents pertaining to the Winter Soldier, looking for anything that might point to where he would have gone. After following a trail from Brooklyn that disappeared somewhere in Russia and following numerous false leads from there, they had eventually decided that Bucky must be somewhere near the equator. Further research specified Brazil. Once he was actually in Brazil, between Natasha's new information and asking the locals, they had quickly figured out where Bucky was. That was when Steve sent the postcard. However, it was another week before they could make contact with him. Like trying to lure a stray dog out from its lair, Bucky was just as skittish. The first time the two actually talked since Steve falling in New York consisted entirely of 'Hello.' 'Hello.' Two days after that, Steve was able to convince Bucky to come to New York with him. He was fairly sure that on the plane ride, Bucky didn't sleep and had had a knife never more than an inch from his hand.

After their shower, Steve and Darcy climbed into bed, him wearing sleep pants and her having stolen one of his t-shirts. Steve wrapped his arms around Darcy, holding her tight and Darcy wriggled as close to him as she could get. Outside their door, they could hear the muffled sound of the bed creaking. Steve smiled one of the biggest smiles Darcy had ever seen from him,

"He's home."

The next morning, when Darcy went to start the coffee, she saw Bucky burrowed beneath all but two of the blankets, wearing his hat and mittens. He was snoring, just loud enough to be audible, and Darcy smiled. Maybe Steve's drawing wasn't so far off. It might take a while, but Darcy had no doubt that it could happen. In fact, she hoped it would.


End file.
